Angel Image
by Saturdaychick
Summary: A very short story wherein Erik and Christine come to an understanding.


It was late. Where was she? Dallying with Raoul, again? What did she see in him? Was it his blue eyes? His golden hair? His virile features and wealth and title? So he rescued her scarf from the sea when they were kids. Big Deal! HE taught her to sing. Wasn't that more important? He turned her into a goddess, adored by all the Opera House patrons and staff, alike.  
He stomped back and forth in the small space behind the dressing room mirror. His irritation was growing. "Blast" he raged, working himself into a temper. He had been alone forever, even in Mazanderan when he worked designing the Shah's new palace, or traveled with his magic act. He never gave his heart, because hearts could be broken.  
He was not a sentimentalist. This was not meant to happen. She called him her Angel. He was no Angel. Closer to a demon, as he'd been described by nervous Opera House employees, and the little ballerinas who shrieked and shuddered at the mere mention of his name, well Opera Ghost, not Erik. They didn't know he was really a man who had lived and suffered and created works of genius, anything he put his hand to, music, architecture. He'd killed, too, murdered for hire and never blinked. Usually those he killed needed killing, so that damned him pretty much, too.  
And yet… she sensed something in him. He _could_ be… he _wanted_ to be… HER Angel.  
Just when he was about to give up and go back down to the 5th cellar and his lair, or home, as he liked to call it, he paused and turned to see the door to the dressing room open.  
Christine, entering, closing the door, locking it behind her. She took his breath away with her loveliness.  
She was still in costume, and she paused to undo and drop some costume jewelry onto the dressing room table. Then she turned to face the mirror. "Angel" she whispered. "Are you there?"  
He wanted to punish her for her tardiness and refrain from replying…but he couldn't help himself. "I'm here, Christine."  
"I'm sorry I was so late, Angel, the managers wanted me to pose for a new promotional photograph. I tried to get away, but they were insistent".  
He sighed with relief. "I understand. It couldn't be helped."  
"Thank you, Angel. I was so worried you would be mad at me for missing our lesson".  
"We can work on it longer, next time. Tomorrow, if you like."  
"I would love it. " she said, excitedly. "If only you were real", she sighed, "and not just a disembodied voice, why I think I would just throw my arms around you, and hug you!"  
Erik was nonplussed,"You would?" he stammered.  
"Yes, I would, I think I would like to kiss you, as well" she folded her arms and looked at her reflection.  
"Kiss me?"  
"Yes, kiss you! Would you have a problem with that? Is that a sin…for angels, I mean?"  
"Uh, not that I know of." Erik stared back at her through the glass. He was quite unsure of what to do next.  
"Well, materialize, then, and have my affections bestowed!"  
" I could… I mean, I can make that happen, but you may not be happy with the result. Suppose I didn't fit your perception of an angel. An Angel of Music, or…any other kind."  
"Looks aren't everything, you know. It would be quite shallow of me to love something…um, someone, just based on their looks."  
"Alright, then" Erik sighed, "Let's get this over with. I am prepared for your condemnation, and I will hold nothing against you, if you are, in fact, repulsed by my appearance."  
"Let me be the judge" she replied, softly.  
He reached up and unlatched the glass. Slowly, he swung the mirror door out and open, and stepped through, in all his formal Opera Ghost attire, cloak swirling around him, white mask covering his face.  
"Behold," he breathed. "I will take no offence at your reactions. As you can see, I am no Angel, simply a man who stands before you. Oh, and also the Opera Ghost or Phantom, if you prefer, of the opera. And, just to further complicate things between us," he reached up and removed the mask, "this is who, and what I am. As I said, not the Angel you hoped for."  
Christine silently followed the proceedings and then slowly, calmly, moved closer to the tall, commanding figure before her, the man who had taught her everything she knew, and advised her, and listened to her and never judged her or spoke a word against her and who had been her protector since she was a young girl.  
"You are perfect," she said, smiling up at him. He stared down at her, slightly confused by her reaction. He had been prepared for her to flee and to never to see her again, and it would have been his demise.  
"Are you ready for that kiss now, um, should I still call you Angel?"  
"My name is Erik" he whispered.  
And she stood on tiptoes to slip one arm around his neck and kiss him on the lips.  
"This could be the beginning of something", he thought. And it was. The beginning of their happy ending!


End file.
